


Autistic Avengers

by whitchry9



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Self Harm, Anxiety, Autism, Autistic, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, Stimming, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, diagnosis discussions, literally all the autistic characters just try and fight me, neurodivergence, neurodivergent characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve learns what autism is, finds out all his teammates are autistic, then realizes he is too, all on the same day. It's a busy day for him.</p><p>Going to have multiple chapters, but I don't know how many. They will likely be mostly standalone though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt can be found here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19994.html?thread=48762138#t48762138
> 
> I'm a pretty big advocate of most of the Avengers being autistic. Like, really. It's a thing. 
> 
> I am autistic myself, and I tried my best to make the portrayals of each character accurate and diverse, because everyone is different.

Tony, Bruce, and Steve were all sitting in the main living room of the Tower when Clint wandered in and threw himself onto a chair. He seemed mildly upset, and Bruce was kind enough to ask him what was on his mind.

“I'm working at a camp for autistic kids this summer, teaching archery. Coulson though it would be good for me,” he said grudgingly. He smiled when he said it, like he was only pretending to not want to. That wouldn't have surprised Steve. Clint often pretended not to like things that he actually did, for whatever reason.

“Autistic?” Steve asked. That was the one part he didn't recognize. “Is that a disease? Are the kids dying?”

Clint laughed. “God no. They're fine. Well, not fine... But yeah. Autism isn't a disease, it's a disorder. Like, a developmental one or whatever. Sometimes they describe it as being in their own little world, but that doesn't apply to everyone.”

He waved a hand in Tony's direction, who only glared at him.

“Barton,” he hissed.

Clint took the hint and got up from the chair and slithered behind the couch, out of Tony's line of fire, should he decide to throw things.

Bruce sighed between them. “Like Clint said, it's a pervasive developmental disorder. People are usually diagnosed when they're pretty young, because it presents at that age. Parents usually don't figure out anything is different with their child until they're supposed to be playing with others and making friends. The language thing can usually be explained away, but that? Not so much, especially when school starts.”

“Playing with others? Do they fight or something?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not usually. It's more like... the kids with autism don't play with other kids. They call it parallel play. And then they'll do different things, like lining toys up instead of using them to play pretend.”

Steve had a sudden flash of his coloured pencils, and the way he used to line them up before he drew. He pushed it aside.

“What about making friends? Do they not?”

He remember Bucky, because Bucky was definitely a friend.

“Oh, no, they definitely do.” Bruce glanced at Tony as he said it, who was absolutely trying his best to maintain a straight face. “But sometimes it's harder for them because they can't pick up on social cues or participate in a back and forth conversation. Facial expressions and sarcasm are hard for them to grasp sometimes too.”

Steve had another flash of the countless fights he'd been in because the other kids had asked 'wanna fight?' and he'd assumed they were actually asking. He realized only after Bucky pointed out that they were taunting him, not actually expecting him to fight, that he'd been mistaken.

“You said something about language?” he asked faintly, hoping that Tony or Bruce would tell him autistic people didn't speak.

“Oh, well usually it's delayed, although sometimes it can be normal, or even advanced.”

Steve recalled his mother mentioning how he spoke late, and dismissed it as a result of his poor hearing.

He swallowed. “Anything else?”

He was digging now, digging for anything that pointed away from him. Because he wasn't... whatever this was. He wasn't that. He was him, he was Steve Rogers, sometimes known as Captain America, and that was it.

Tony tilted his head.

“Eye contact,” Clint added, from somewhere behind the couch. Steve had kind of forgotten he was there.

“What about it?”

“They avoid it. It's uncomfortable. Or sometimes they hold it for too long, because they don't know when to stop.”

Steve didn't know why Clint was still behind the couch, but he nodded anyway.

“Sometimes people describe autism as being born without the rulebook for how to navigate the world,” Bruce added. “All the things that people seem to understand intuitively just don't come easily to autistic people. Sharing conversations, not info dumping on poor unsuspecting strangers...”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and that was all Bruce needed to backtrack and explain.

“Info dumping is when they share a lot of information on one topic that they're passionate about,” Bruce explained. “Usually it's something they're interested a lot in, their special interest, or it can be anything they know a lot about. But with autistic kids, it's hard for them to tell when the other person is just making small talk, and doesn't actually want to discuss the weather.”

“Or adults,” Clint muttered.

“I can see how that conversation could take a turn,” Steve admitted.

Bruce nodded.

“Is that it? Social difficulties, narrow interests, language delays?”

Because that was three things, and really, he could explain those away by coincidence, really.

Clint piped up from behind the couch again. “You guys forgot about the routines and sensory issues.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “No, bird brain, we didn't forget, we just hadn't gotten there yet. Stop pretending you're so much more of an expert.”

There was a sound that suggested Clint stuck out his tongue at Tony, but Steve didn't ask.

“But yes,” Bruce continued, ignoring the children in their presence. “A lot of them have sensory issues, whether they're over stimulated or unstimulated, or sometimes both, just in different areas. And then routine is a big part. Sometimes autistic kids will have meltdowns when their routines are disrupted. They deal with the world in the only way they know how, by controlling the parts of it that they can.” He shrugged. “And when that control is taken away, well, things go bad. It's terrifying to lose control.”

Steve suspected he was speaking from personal experience now.

“All of those individual things on their own may not be much of anything, but combined, and the kid usually has problems at school and with making friends, and they're usually diagnosed. There are therapies that can help, social skills training, therapy to help them deal with their senses. It's pretty common now, actually.”

“So kids – people – with these symptoms are diagnosed with a disorder,” Steve summarized.

Bruce nodded.

“But...” He frowned again. “What do you mean. That's like... a thing? People who are different are labelled?”

Tony shrugged.“Yep. And we've cured smallpox,” he added. “Lots of advances in all the areas of healthcare, from infectious diseases to psychiatry.”

Steve frowned at him. “Really? Smallpox is gone?” He looked to Bruce for confirmation.

He nodded. “Really. The only viruses that still exist are samples.”

Steve returned to the first thing. “What's it called again?”

“Autism. Or autism spectrum disorders, since they can vary widely,” Bruce recited. He smiled slightly. “People with it are called autistic. I can't remember where the discussion is on people first language.” He scratched his head, and Steve shared the sentiment. He had no clue.

 

Steve frowned. “But that's not a disorder. That's just how some people _are,_ ” he insisted.

“Yes and no,” Tony said. “It's both.”

“What does that mean?” he asked desperately.

“Okay, so some people think that you become autistic because of something, like... _vaccines,_ ” he spat, utterly disgusted with the word. “We're not even going to get into how bullshit that is right now. We'll ease you into it. But some people think that you become autistic because of something, and others, myself included, believe that it's simply the way your brain is wired. Like, neurons and stuff. ”

“That it's part of who you are,” Bruce clarified.

Steve considered it. “Like... what are they called, mutants?”

Tony winced, while Bruce tilted his head. “Yeah, you could say that. Some people think that autism is something to be proud of, and others want to cure it and get rid of it.”

Tony hissed at that. Bruce patted him on the head.

“Just like mutants,” Steve added.

Tony recovered, and nodded. “Professor X is very pro mutant, accepting of the gifts and differences the kids have, and Magneto... well, he's... we won't talk about him. But other people think that mutants are dangerous, and need to be cured or killed. It's a bit more extreme than the autism community, but still.”

He frowned again. “Or maybe not. But I said we won't talk about the vaccines right now. Don't get me started on that bitch.”

Steve didn't know who Tony was referring to, but he sure wasn't going to ask. There were some topics that Tony could start on, and barely stop for breath until he'd unloaded everything possible to know about it.

 

Which sounded kind of like...

“Tony...” Steve asked cautiously. “Are you... autistic?” He steeled himself to be ridiculed, because of course Tony couldn't be autistic, he was Tony for heavens sake.

But Tony smirked at him and shrugged. “Probably. Never officially diagnosed, but yeah, I identify as autistic, and I'm sure that if a psychiatrist ever got their hands on me and my unabridged childhood, they'd be more than happy to stick a label on me.”

Steve blinked. “Oh.” He wasn't expecting that.

Next to him, Bruce held his hand up and waved slightly.

Steve blinked again. “Yeah? Oh- _oh..._ You too?”

Bruce grinned. “Yeah. And unlike Tony over here, I was actually diagnosed.”

 

Tony scoffed and waved a hand. “I was already light years ahead of the other kids, and that excused my... eccentricities. And after that, it was never a priority. Then I learned how to behave by imitation. I was expected to behave in a certain way, and it certainly wasn't the norm. If I was anyone else, yeah, I'd probably have been diagnosed. But as it was, I kept myself busy and mostly out of trouble, and by the time I started getting into trouble, I'd adapted enough to hide most of it. I pass as neurotypical if I want to. I just usually... don't.” He shrugged again.

“Guys, he doesn't know what neurotypical is,” Clint sighed, before Steve could say anything.

Tony shook his head exaggeratedly, and smiled at Steve. “Of course not. Neurotypical is... um. Bruce? How to word?”

Bruce adjusted his glasses. “Neurotypical is a broad term for people without any sort of mental disorders, not just autism. So things like ADHD, learning disorders, schizophrenia, they're not neurotypical. So it's sort of a catch all term for everyone else.”

“NTs,” Clint added.

“So the non neurotypical people... what are they called?”

Tony shrugged. “I'm partial to neurodivergent, but I think that's even broader.”

Steve rubbed his head.

“Guys, we totally info dumped on him,” Clint noted, standing up from behind the couch now.

Steve blinked at him. “You too?”

Clint grinned. “Coulson had me diagnosed after he recruited me to SHIELD. Asperger's. Literally no one on this team is neurotypical, haven't you realized this by now?”

“He only just learned about what that means,” Bruce reminded him.

Steve slouched back into the chair. “Natasha?”

“Asperger's,” Clint confirmed. “But I didn't tell you. She'd kill me.”

“Not sure about Thor,” Tony frowned. “He's not exactly, you know, human, but even for an Asgardian, he seems neurodivergent, so whatever.” He shrugged.

 

“What about me?” he asked.

Tony and Bruce exchanged a glance, but it was Clint who spoke.

“Dude, I thought you knew. Isn't that why you were asking about this?”

“You brought it up,” Steve pointed out. “And what do you mean?”

None of them looked at him, not that he was looking at them. His peripheral vision was good enough to tell. _Oh god it was so true._

“Sam was the one who brought it up,” Bruce said. “He wanted to know if we'd noticed anything.”

“Like?”

Tony shrugged. “He said you didn't make eye contact with him. You ran at the same time every morning. You couldn't always tell when he was joking or not.”

“You think we would have noticed,” Clint added. “You know, being intimately familiar with it ourselves.”

“But no,” Bruce sighed. “He was the one who noticed and brought it up. Maybe it was because you were so similar to the rest of us that we didn't realize there was anything different.”

“Welcome to the freak show,” Tony exclaimed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve winced.

“Oh, sorry man,” he apologized.

“Is this something that you think could apply to you?” Bruce asked gently.

Steve bit his lip.

Maybe. Maybe it was. They'd sort of described a lot of things he thought were strange about him, but so many of them could be explained away by him being a sickly child, and after that there was the army, and the army had rules and schedules and that was good. Then there was the ice and then SHIELD and Avengers and everything had fallen into place. He'd never really had to carve out his own routine in a world that was too much.

Because yes, the world definitely was too much, but he'd always seemed to have a path neatly laid out for him.

Maybe they'd noticed. If Coulson knew about Clint, then surely he knew about Steve? Coulson, who was Captain America's biggest fan, _had_ to have known.

Maybe that was why he'd never struggled since waking up. Because he was surrounded by people dealing with some of the same things.

 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think it could.”

 

Tony beamed. “I'm not going to say I knew it, but I knew it.”

“Hey, I thought so too,” Clint added. He'd sunk back behind the couch again. “I'm very good at it. I successfully recognized Nat and a bunch of others. It's like gay-dar, but not. Better.”

Bruce sighed. “I had suspicions, but I wasn't going to say anything. The other guy, well... he was quite adamant about it. He's even better than Clint at telling. Sort of like the therapy dogs that recognize autistic people and gravitate towards them.”

“Is Hulk?...” Steve began, not sure how to word it.

“Hulk is pretty nonverbal, but I'd definitely say he's on the spectrum as well.” Bruce smiled.

“Nonverbal? But he speaks.”

“Nonverbal doesn't just mean not speaking entirely. Rarely is a person at one extreme of the spectrum. See, again with the spectrum. Hulk is mostly nonverbal, while I am mostly verbal. There is no black and white, just... so many shades of grey.”

“Fifty?” Tony suggested.

Clint threw a pillow at him, and although Tony managed to duck, it still caught him on the head.

“I'm feeling attacked,” Tony bellowed.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Good. It was a terrible joke.”

He glanced back at Steve.

“So. What do you think?”

 

Steve shrugged. He really didn't know. It was a lot to take in at once.

 

Tony perked up. “Oh, hey, this means you can use the sensory room now. Well, you could have used it before, cause we sure wouldn't have stopped you, but now it's like, official.”

“Sensory room?” Steve echoed. He'd never heard of anything like that before.

“Oh yeah,” Tony said, jumping to his feet. “Come on, we'll show you.”

 

Steve merely followed them to the elevator. Even Clint came out from behind the couch to accompany them.

The elevator took them to the same floor as Bruce's yoga room and Natasha's ballet studio, which explained why Steve didn't know about it. He'd only been on that floor once or twice, and had never gone wandering around it.

 

He wasn't sure what he expected, so he didn't know why it was a surprise. But it was.

 

The entire room was muted shades of yellow and blue, and the floor was all padded or cushioned with some sort of spongy material that Steve wouldn't be surprised to find out Tony had invented himself. There was a swing hanging from the ceiling, and Steve had a sudden urge to wrap himself up in the hammock seat and hide himself away from the world. There was a tent in one of the corners and a ball pit in another. There were countless exercise balls in varying sizes and colours, and some of them were textured. A shelf along one wall held buckets, presumably filled with more things, and some of the cubbies had blankets that looked heavenly. There were beanbags and a huge assortment of pillows nearby, and Steve had no doubt that they would be just as comfortable.

 

At least a third of the room was taken up by a jungle gym that reached the ceiling, and might have even connected with the vent system. Steve would bet that it did, solely for Clint's sake, which was proven a second later when he leaped up the rungs of the ladder and squeezed himself into a lookout perch.

 

Back on the ground, a rumbling came from the ball pit.

Natasha peered up from underneath the brightly coloured balls like an alligator surveying their prey. Only her head and eyes were visible.

“Hey Steve,” she greeted. “I'm guessing they talked to you.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

She nodded, and ducked back under the surface of the balls a moment later.

 

Steve returned to surveying the room and the vast array of _things_ that it held.

“If there's anything you want,” Tony said, “Just let Jarvis know and he can get it. I pretty much guarantee that another one of us will use it too, so don't feel bad.”

Steve nodded. Of course Tony knew about his reluctance to ask for things for himself. He'd grown up with the bare essentials, and had lived most of his life having to save every penny. Even with the money he had, to say nothing of Tony, he was uncomfortably spending so much of it solely on himself.

“Thanks Tony,” he said softly.

Bruce had pulled one of the blankets off the shelf and had buried himself underneath it, curled up in one of the beanbag chairs, his tablet on his lap.

Tony nodded. “Want to try the swing? It's built to hold Hulk level weights, so you're definitely good.”

Steve smiled. “I very much would.”

 

It was just as good as he'd imagined.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing changed within the team dynamic. They still saved the world. They still had movie nights every week unless there were extenuating circumstances. They still had meals together when they could and cooked for each other.

 

But sometimes weighted blankets were dragged from the sensory room to spend time on the shared couch after a particularly overwhelming day. Sometimes people opted out of movie nights because they needed time alone in the dark and quiet. And sometimes all of them ended up in the sensory room at the same time, spending time alone, but together. It was beautiful.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve considers getting diagnosed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of accidental self harm.

Steve had thought everything would continue like that, continue how it had always been. Nothing really had to change now that he had a name for the way he was (even though he wasn't always sure it needed a name, because sometimes he was positive that this was just the way he was, not wrong, not different, and the vicious cycle of thought would result in him curling up in his room and thinking too hard as the thoughts ran themselves to death in circles within his mind) except for of course it did. If Steve had learned anything, it was that things always had to change.

And it was usually awful.

 

They were on a mission, of course, because missions were things that Steve could try to control to the best of his abilities, and he sure did, whereas Tony rejected any sort of structure that couldn't be duplicated, which explained a lot really, but they never really went to plan.

 

Tony had to make a perfect shot at a great distance or risk lives.

Steve waited for him to line up the shot and make the call.

He chewed on his knuckle, clenching his finger tightly and biting down.

“Almost got it...” Tony grunted. “The angle is pretty terrible.”

Steve winced. “Tony...” he warned.

“I know Cap. Give me a second.”

Steve did. He waited. He worried. He didn't even realize he'd broken the skin biting his finger until he tasted the blood.

He glanced down, realizing what he'd done, and was shocked, and yet still somewhat detached.

“Oh,” he whispered.

“You okay Cap?” Clint asked.

Steve nodded once, sharply, knowing that Clint could see him. “Bit stressed is all,” he added. “I'll take care of it after. Tony, you got the shot?”

“Yes. Taking it now.”

 

Tony took the shot, everything was fine, and by the time they got back home, the bite mark on Steve's knuckle had already scabbed over.

That didn't mean the rest of the team didn't see it when they ate dinner.

 

Bruce was the one to comment on it.

“Accidental self harming. It's not a big deal. I'm pretty sure we've all done it at one point or another.” He shrugged. “It's not really a big deal until it becomes purposeful.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve muttered, his face flushing bright with shame. _Should have been better, god what sort of thing is it that a grown man does that why even._

“Hey,” Tony said sharply. “Don't beat yourself up over this. When Bruce says we've all done it, he means it. I have clawed at my own skin until it was red and raw before, and not even realized. It happens. It's a coping mechanism. Probably not the healthiest one, but certainly not the worst one either.”

Steve sighed, and Bruce took that opportunity to change the subject. “Have you thought more about getting diagnosed officially?”

Steve shrugged, stabbing at some corn with the fork in his left hand, his right hidden away in his lap.

“I don't really see what a difference it will make. I don't feel a need to have it done officially or whatever. No one needs to tell me that I'm valid in my understanding of myself.”

Bruce shrugged. “Fair point. You don't have to be diagnosed. But if you were, you might get some more insight into yourself. Therapy really can't hurt.”

“I've been to therapy,” Steve said abruptly. He had. After he woke up in the future, he'd been sent to so much therapy that he lost track. “I never found it particularly helpful.”

“I'm guessing the therapy was more about 'oh god he woke up in the future and everything is different we need to examine him closely because shit's gonna go down', rather than helping you find coping mechanisms for overstimulation or stress,” Tony added.

“This would be specific though,” Natasha clarified. “It can be a lot more helpful.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. If Natasha was mentioning it, she was likely going off of personal experience, and for her to share something that personal... Well, he was certainly thankful. “I'll consider it,” he said finally, scooping up some more mashed potatoes. “If you guys help me find someone good.”

Natasha nodded. “We can do that.”

Steve glanced around the table, and everyone smiled at him.

Yeah. He could do it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

No, he couldn't do it. Nope.

 

“I can't do it,” he told them, wrapped inside the swing. The rest of them were in the room with him and he definitely felt crowded. “What do you even do? How do you pay them? Do they expect money before the appointment? What if I get lost? What if someone sees me?”

They were all quiet for a moment, and then Natasha took Thor and Bruce by the arms and dragged them out of the room. “This one is all you,” she muttered to Clint and Tony. Which made sense. Clint had actually been through the diagnosis process, and Tony was used to meetings and appointments. But that didn't mean he was any more reassured.

 

“Okay Steve. It's okay. What time is the appointment?”

“3:30. I'm going to be late. I'm going to be late. I can't go.”

And he really couldn't. His anxiety level was spiralling. Because he'd be late and then they would think badly of him and then the appointment would be awful and just no.

“You have plenty of time to get there,” Tony reassured him. “You can do it.”

“I'm going to answer your questions in order, okay man?” Clint said.

Steve didn't respond, which Clint took to meant he didn't have any complaints with that.

“Okay, first of all, you're probably going to talk. Just talk. You might do some paperwork, but it's probably going to be talking. In terms of payment, don't worry about that at all. You have insurance. You don't have to do anything. You're not going to get lost because we're going to take you. Or just one of us, if you prefer, because that relates to the next question. And so what if people see you? Therapy is normal. Do you know how many people get therapy? No one is going to question why you're getting therapy. Cause let's be real, most people would assume it's for PTSD. Which it probably will be, eventually. Partly anyway.” He waved a hand. “Whatever. Not the point. Any other questions?”

Steve had to admit that he didn't. “No,” he sighed.

Most of his worries had been alleviated with the announcement that one or more of them would be accompanying him. And then with the realization that the money matters were none of his immediate concern, he had no other excuse. They all knew that his concerns about being seen really weren't concerns at all.

He climbed out of the swing, taking a moment to regain his balance. “Okay,” he sighed.

“Who do you want to go with you?” Tony asked.

Steve considered it. He'd really love to take all of them, but that was the opposite of discrete. “Just Clint I guess.”

“Great,” Tony said. “Clint is going to stay with you, and you guys can both start getting ready to go now. You'll have plenty of time to get there.”

“Thanks Tony,” he muttered.

“No problem. You need anything else, just call me or ask Jarvis. I'm going to go now, okay?”

Steve nodded.

 

Clint gave him a few minutes before starting to extract him from the hammock swing, and Steve appreciated that.

They then spent another half an hour selecting clothes, because what the hell do you wear to a therapy session? There were no rules for that. Steve was close to calling Sam for advice before Jarvis assured him that a button up shirt would be sufficiently formal.

 

Of course, it was then that Steve looked at the time again.

“We're going to be late,” Steve said again, his anxiety spiking when he realized the time.

“We're really not,” Clint replied. “You know how Happy drives. And you factored in extra time for traffic just in case. Remember?”

“Right,” Steve exhaled.

“Remember, just keep telling yourself, 'I got this', even if you don't got it, okay?”

Steve smiled a little bit.

“I got this,” he repeated.

“Perfect. Let's go.”

 


End file.
